Poetry

We are writers

We can tell the story any way we like:

add details,

remove details,

embellish, embolden,

build anticipation or slather on despair.

Confuse affection with love and love with affection,

claim no heart

and a heart big enough for them all.

We are writers,

we tell what we will,

the beginning and end may always be the same

but the middle is ours

to divine.

Poetry

Vanishing Time

It can overtake you, if you’re not careful.

That little bug, that tightly sealed jar that cracks with every move

and is just waiting for a chance to burst open

and flood the carpet with alphabet shapes that form words,

sentences, scenes, chapters,

faster than you can say, ‘I’ll just get in five minutes’ work before bed.’

Oh, what a lie. A page full of typed lies

that keep you from realising the time until

the strikes of midnight–no, I stand corrected–two in the morning.

Thank you brain, for that mad dash of creativity.

No, I mean it.

The pages would be crisp and white forever without you.

Poetry

Refined

The first line.

That’s all it can take. A statement.

Sometimes bold, sometimes not.

It is exactly what it needs to be.

It can grasp you, choke hold,

demanding to know who you are and why you’re reading it.

It can take your hand and guide you through.

It can push you, head-first, into another universe.

It can offer you a roll of the dice,

or a look into the mirror,

a table at the feast.

Leave you cold. Leave you warm. Leave you flustered.

Make you think you want to quit, then watch as you can’t bring yourself to.

Stamp itself into your mind.  A tattoo you forget about

until you look over your shoulder.

Permanent.

An experience that will never vanish.

Poetry

A box full of kindling

You start by cross-dressing,

trying out every hat

and pant-suit

you can lay your snatching hands on.

Taking a nip

here and there

without even knowing,

pollinating the dry wood

with a peppering of ideas

and choosing to tempt

Pandora with the wild taste

of the unwritten.

An input always needs an output;

you present the light-child

who carries it.